


Familiarisation Flight

by recreational



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Romance, Smut, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:12:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1338319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recreational/pseuds/recreational
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected declaration after a botched flight – and the games begin. It’s just words, after all, isn’t it? (Spins off after Vaduz)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Checks complete.”

Relieved, Martin sunk back into his seat. They had made it back to Fitton and now all he had to do was endure the unavoidable final stage of this flight.

“Martin.”

There was the prelude. That carefully crafted invitation to the battle of wits he would eventually win one day – at least once. Yet at the moment it still felt like he was being besieged by an entire army and wanted to defend his garrison with nothing but a foil. Whatever wounds he inflicted, they paled in comparison to the scars his opponent left in his wake.

“Yes, Douglas,” he answered through gritted teeth.

“Is it possible – and this is just a theory, mind you,” Douglas began, “but can it be that the date with the Princess of Liechtenstein wasn’t entirely a success?”

All but curling up in his chair, Martin felt himself shrinking to the size of a lemon. And what he would not give for someone to hide him in the cabin now!

The door was opened – a vague possibility to avoid the carnage or at least to exchange it for a milder version, Martin thought to himself. Carolyn bustled in, making the latter option a real possibility.

“Good landing, Martin,” she chirped.

Compressing his lips, Martin tried to brave the ensuing silence, but one glance at Douglas showed that this was not the likely way out of his predicament.

“All right, all right, it wasn’t me,” Martin ground out.

“No? Well then, good take-off.”

“It also wasn’t...” Martin started when Douglas cleared his throat.

“May I interrupt this entertaining round of groundless suspicion, but I was just enquiring after a recent event which I’m sure will provide the answer to the question of who flew… or why.”

Carolyn squinted her eyes. “Then enlighten me. But it should better be quick.”

“Now if we recapitulate today, it was almost impossible not to realise that Martin was far from his usual… mediocre form,” Douglas declared, cherishing each word. “The first clear indicator was his attempt to land on one of the new runways of Berlin Brandenburg Airport.”

Martin clenched his fists. Until now he had harboured the hope that Douglas had not noticed his blunder.

“An airport that has yet to be opened,” Douglas continued after the pause. “And on a runway that was a very well-lit street leading to said airport.”

“It was an inferno of lights!” Martin protested. “I got distracted. And why on earth do they illuminate the construction site more than the actual airport next to it?”

“Schönefeld is a former GDR airfield after all,” Douglas mused. “Perhaps nostalgia?”

Refusing to answer, Martin crossed his arms.

“Most importantly, and quite rightly so, I must add, you offered me take-off and landing on our return flight,” Douglas said, “and despite the fact that our passengers always appreciate not ending up on the M26, the whole incident points in one direction: the princess.”

Attentively waiting for an answer, Douglas inclined his head and also Carolyn appeared to be mildly intrigued.

Martin sighed inwardly. Maybe now, after he had endured the ridicule, he could get the rest over with quickly.

“It didn’t work out, that’s all there is to say.”

He prepared to get up, but Douglas raised a warning hand.

“Now wait,” he commanded. “That’s far from all there is to say.”

Shaking his head, he looked at Martin quizzically. “How could you ruin that date? It was as if you were told to play darts at arm’s length away from the board. How could you _possibly_ have missed?”

Martin cringed. Of course Douglas would poke his finger in the wound and mess with it a little more.

“I might have said something inappropriate,” Martin answered.

“What? You?” Douglas laughed, infecting Carolyn who joined in with some subdued giggling.

“Inappropriate! Not offending!” Martin clarified and Douglas calmed down.

“Now what was it that sent her Highness right over the Channel and up her lofty castle, if I may ask?”

“I told her that I loved her,” murmured Martin.

“Such nonsense!” Carolyn cried out, making everyone else flinch. “What is wrong with you men?”

With Douglas’s attention directed to someone else, Martin frantically searched for a chance to escape exposure. Carolyn blocked the door, though, and elbowing her out of the way was as practicable as snatching the food from a hungry grizzly.

“You _men_?” Douglas asked, clearly smelling a rat, but Martin could practically see the alarm bells starting to ring in Carolyn’s head.

“Martin, what on earth were you thinking?” she chided him and the topic seemed to interest Douglas more after all.

“Yes, Martin, what were you thinking?” he scoffed. 

“I don’t know.” Martin wrung his hands. “It slipped out somehow, like it always does.”

“Ha!” Carolyn shouted, briefly irritating Douglas, who nevertheless put his mind on the words again and pinpointed the one for which Martin could have kicked himself the moment he had uttered it.

“Always?”

Martin exhaled. “Look, I told all of my girlfriends. Pretty much all the time, actually. It… it lost its significance at some point, I don’t even realise I’m saying it until it’s too late,” he rambled.

“You must be joking.”

“No, I'm not!” Martin exclaimed. “I can tell anyone. It’s like I tell them I bought tickets for the cinema.”

“Impossible,” Douglas stated with conviction.

“I swear, it’s… it’s no effort at all.”

“Tell Carolyn.”

Briefly, the challenge wafted between them like toxic mist before Martin faced his employer.

“Carolyn, I love you.”

Serious, composed – it had sounded like all the other times he had said those words, but the reaction they provoked was worse than anything he had ever experienced.

“Oh no, not another one!” Carolyn shrieked. She spun on her heels and vanished through the door – almost as if the flight deck had been packed with her ex-husbands.

Douglas fought for his countenance and managed to keep a steady face although Martin could see each muscle twitching. At least he had the decency not to poke fun at the situation directly, Martin thought.

“Her face was priceless,” Douglas smirked, but sobered up quickly. “And although I’m itching to find out the cause of this unexpected outburst, we’ve got a more pressing problem at hand, don’t you think?”

Martin slouched his shoulders.

“You don’t understand,” he said dejectedly. “I suppose you don’t feel the need to resort to open declarations, as you’re the Marquis de… d’Aviation.”

“Well, it’s not like I haven’t uttered the words on occasion,” Douglas conceded, “but I don’t think as… inflationary as you did.”

“I can’t help it that I’m sensitive,” Martin bristled.

“Prone to overreaction I’d say. Maybe over time…”

“No!” Martin stopped him. “It’s not getting any better! Worse actually, the more desperate I become.”

Douglas reclined into his seat, giving him one of those long, unblinking looks that Martin had become exasperated with over the years. There was something in them that he just could not grasp, an aspect that even added up to the secretive persona Douglas upheld. Imperceptibly, Martin’s hands started to fidget and he cursed himself for his perpetual insecurity.

“How about a little… exorcism?” Douglas growled, yanking Martin from his thoughts in the most violent manner.

“A what?” he gasped.

“Declaring your love has become a rather disturbing habit to you,” Douglas explained patiently. “So it might help if those words are connected to something a lot less… enjoyable than a prospective affair.”

“And how’s that supposed to work?”

Martin knew that his mouth was still hanging open despite the fact that Arthur barged in.

“Hi chaps,” he greeted them, but Douglas did not bat an eyelid. Unflinchingly he held Martin’s gaze and just leaned forwards a bit in his seat.

“Martin, I love you.”

For a fraction of a second total silence surrounded them. Petrified, Martin even forgot how to breathe, but then Douglas simply turned away and got up.

“Now if you excuse me.”

He left the flight deck in a purposeful hurry and to stop himself from staring at the closed door like a flabbergasted fish, Martin directed his eyes to Arthur who was bouncing on his toes, pressing his hands on his mouth to stifle what Martin estimated would be squealing.

“Erm, sorry for that,” Martin began when Arthur’s bulging eyes were reaching critical level.

“That’s brilliant!” Arthur blurted out before he panted for air. “Now you’re one of those couples in the magazines!”

Martin blinked, completely bewildered.

“What do you mean?” he asked, but Arthur’s enthusiastic face did not bode too well regarding a coherent explanation.

“You know, those boys or girls that hook up with other boys or girls, and get photographed at posh events all the time,” he babbled. “Like… ah… ah… Madonna and Britney Spears.”

Martin massaged his forehead in a futile attempt at soothing his nerves.

“Arthur, they aren’t…” he began, but then decided to take another path. “Don’t mind, but you do realise that couples… like that aren’t restricted to show business?”

“What? Nah.” Arthur dismissed him with a shrug. “That’s something just those erm… erm, artists or Belgian people do.”

“Belgian?”

“Yeah, you know the ones that write poetry and end up on an attic eventually.”

“How do you know I live…? Well, it doesn’t matter, just...” Martin paused. “Oh, you mean bohemian!”

“That’s the one! So you’re like those now! That’s brilliant!”

“No, it’s nothing of the sort. And we’re not going to be in the tabloids. Or anywhere!” Martin clarified hastily. “Douglas was just making fun of me.”

“But he said–”

“I _know_ what he said and he didn’t mean it.”

Martin stood up. There was only so much madness he could take. Not after the most humiliating day for years – and with Douglas as his first officer, this was saying something.

“How can one not mean it?”

Averting his eyes from Arthur, Martin let his hands linger over the door knob. He knew that accusatory tone and if he looked up, he would meet the same incredulous expression he had seen so often. Yet this was not the time for restoring Arthur’s belief in humanity.

“Much easier than you think, I’m afraid,” he mumbled and opened the door.


	2. Chapter 2

One ring and Martin sat bold upright in his bed. Feeling completely hung over, he groped for his mobile phone.

“Martin!” 

Carolyn’s voice grated a painful path through his ear, but fortunately did not meet the remains of a headache. It activated fragmented memories of the previous day though, and Martin felt his hand cramp around his phone. God, what had he done? No wonder that he had slept so poorly.

“Hello Carolyn, look…”

“Shush, Martin, listen,” she commanded. “We’re going to Liverpool to pick up a wealthy businessman and fly him to Milan.”

“Linate?” Martin asked automatically.

“No, Malpensa. And we’ll stay in Milan on call.”

“Oh no,” Martin groaned. “But will we at least get a taxi ride into–?”

“No, certainly not,” she interjected. “I found us a nice – and that means cheap – hotel in the city centre. Where we will go by bus.”

 _A ride full of tourists to one of those run-down dosshouses Carolyn usually chose,_ Martin translated inwardly.

“We’ll be on call from tomorrow afternoon on. Now hurry, Arthur and I are already at the airport and I told Douglas to pick you up with my car.”

“Why does he have your car?” Martin asked.

“He was at the airport.”

“How come _I’m_ not at the airport? I’m the captain!”

Carolyn heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Because you’d make a fuss with the twelve hours of rest not being over, so we decided to pick you up last.”

Before he could reply, Carolyn had hung up on him, but he needed a couple of beeps to gather his thoughts. Packing! But what did ‘on call’ mean this time? One night? A week?

Martin rubbed his eyes. As long as Douglas hadn’t arrived, he should…

 _Douglas!_ Squeezing his eyes shut again, Martin recalled the crushing awkwardness of the day before. Good lord, could it even get worse?

A loud knock interrupted his train of thought and Martin disentangled himself from his quilt. Groggily, he staggered to the door to open it.

“Hullo, luv!” a deep baritone sounded through the crack, prompting Martin to close it again, but a foot stopped the door. Instinctively, Martin clutched the uniform that had come in view and pulled the man wearing it inside the room.

“Shhh, Douglas!” Martin hissed. “Will you stop that already?”

“What exactly?”

“You know what I mean. _That!_ You’re in a students’ hostel!”

“Oh, _that!_ ” Douglas said with no surprise in his voice. “Going by the way I was received in this establishment, _that_ is not a topic completely alien to these premises.” He chuckled lightly. “The young man who opened the front door seemed to be exceedingly pleased to see me.”

“Slim, short blond hair, glasses?” Martin asked.

Douglas nodded. “The places his eyes strayed had no means to salute in kind.”

“David,” Martin said, rolling his eyes, but Douglas’s face lit up.

“Now isn’t he a solution to your problem?” he asked. “And not far to seek either?”

“For goodness sake, Douglas!” Martin exclaimed. “He’s twenty-one!”

“Is he?” Douglas stressed each word.

“And he’s… a… a...”

“Yes?” A suggestively raised eyebrow was enough to create the impression in Martin that he was not even wearing his flannel pyjamas any more.

“I… I should get dressed.”

Frantically, he scanned his bedsit, but in the end threw Douglas a helpless look.

“By all means,” Douglas declared and, completely at ease, he stepped backwards to lean on the wall. “I suggest you make a start on it soon, we’re in a bit of a hurry here.”

 _Don’t blush! Please, not now!_ Martin instructed his blood flow, but it simply would not obey and he already felt it leaving a fiery trail on his throat. Panicking, he grabbed his shirt and uniform to make his escape. The toilet in the hallway was the only remaining option.

He took off his pyjamas, buttoned up his shirt and threw on his uniform. Pausing only for a brief look in the mirror to assure himself that he had almost reached his normal, pale, self again, he then combed a handful of water through his hair on his way back into his room.

“Your modesty is heart-warming,” Douglas greeted him, steering the heat to Martin’s face once more.

“I’ve never been the… dormitory type,” Martin justified himself and stuffed his pyjamas into his wardrobe.

“And yet you live in a hostel.”

“You know why.”

Gritting his teeth, Martin tried not to sulk. He concentrated on the packing and going by the audible shuffling of his feet, this seemed to test Douglas’s patience after all.

“In god’s name, Martin,” he grumbled. “Your luggage doesn’t need to be double-checked. The only reason it is going to crash is when the plane around it does.”

After a last glance at his license, Martin zipped the bag. “I think I’m ready,” he said.

Waiting for a speedy departure, he was disappointed, though. Douglas remained where he was and the sceptical expression on his face alerted Martin beyond all measure.

“No, I happen to disagree,” Douglas stated.

“Why?” Panicking, Martin looked around. “What’s missing?”

“You’re only ready to embark on this mission after hearing the most important words,” Douglas growled. He inclined his head and grinned.

 _Yes, of course. That!_ Exasperated, Martin inhaled, but before he could say anything, Douglas extended his arm.

“Let me take your bag so you can lock the door,” he said. Relieved, Martin handed him the luggage and took the key from the chest of drawers. _It’s over,_ his mind supplied.

“That’s proper behaviour for someone who loves you, isn’t it?” Douglas winked, opened the door and vanished.

“It’s over, my…!” Martin started to swear, but bit his tongue. The whole thing had turned into something resembling a dare and Douglas never forfeited. There was only one way out: he had to brave the taunting until he could convince Douglas to let it go. Perhaps a bit of begging would help.

With unsteady hands, Martin locked the door and then jogged downstairs, only to see Douglas close the boot and get into the car. Stressing over an inconspicuous topic, Martin’s mind just came up with the most obvious one.

“The briefing,” he blurted out whilst still struggling with the seat belt. “Let’s do the briefing now.”

Slowly, Douglas weaved his way through the traffic.

“Mmh, almost no wind where ever you hold up your finger in Europe,” he began eventually. “Partly cloudy in Liverpool, the same on the way to Milan and, what a surprise, _in_ Milan. Eighteen degrees in Liverpool and twenty-one in Milan. A mesmerising combination of dullness. That is, unless you regard twenty-one an unsettling number as such.”

Martin’s glowering could not ward off the knowing grin Douglas directed at him.

“Ah well,” Douglas said and focused on the street again. “Whatever the day brings, I _do_ hope you remember that I love you.”

“Douglas!” Martin ground out. “You can’t go on saying that.”

“I can’t? From what I hear, it’s barely possible _not_ to say it these days. On the street, on TV, there’s an almost excessive use of the phrase,” Douglas explained. “And a quite random one, if I may add.”

“But we’re not teenage girls, all right?” Martin held his head and tried to concentrate. He was not having this discussion. Not with Douglas. “So don’t say it again. Please?”

“Why not? You proclaimed it all the time, and possibly only to ease your way into your girlfriends’ beds,” Douglas remarked.

“That is… not true!”

Martin winced. It wasn’t, was it? And he hadn’t said it to everyone. Surely not to Adam. But he was not going to stir up that hornets’ nest. Never again.

“If you say so.” Douglas made no effort to hide the fact that he was entirely unconvinced. “Besides, this is an attempt to cure you from your overindulgence, if I remember correctly.”

“Douglas, you really don’t have to–”

“Oh, yes, I do!” Douglas interjected with a cheerful smile. “No trouble at all for someone who loves you.”

Martin groaned.

“Douglas, I think I’m getting the point now. Yet that doesn’t mean that I’m prepared to play this game.”

“Isn’t it nice to be told?” Douglas asked innocently.

“That’s not what this is about.”

“So it is _not_ pleasant?” Douglas maintained.

“If you know that the other one’s just doing it for sport, it isn’t,” Martin answered, but Douglas huffed out a laugh.

“I wonder what your girlfriends’ reaction to this bold statement would be.”

Martin compressed his lips. He had to come up with something or he would lose this argument – like countless others before. And there was no way he could afford to give in now!

“And who says that I just do it for sport?” Douglas asked in mock offendedness. “It should be obvious that I harbour an unusual degree of affection for you as you’re the only person I’ve ever transported a piano for. I wonder which of the aforementioned adolescent girls _tweeting_ their love can claim similar acts of dedication.”

 _Damn it, I’m sunk,_ Martin thought desperately. A knockout argument like that was impossible to refute – not without insulting Douglas even more than he already pretended to be.

“And how long are you planning to continue with this?” Martin asked, defeated.

Douglas shrugged. “As long as I deem it necessary.”

“But not when we’re at work, or when Carolyn’s present,” Martin demanded, “… or Arthur – although this ship has sailed. Oh, or when Herc’s there, or someone else, erm… and not via satcom!”

“Certainly.” Douglas’s satisfied grin showed that he was perfectly aware of the fact that he had won. Trying to ignore the gloating, Martin slowly regained his composure.

 _There’s nothing wrong with it,_ he thought to himself. Apart from the fact that it was, well, wrong.  It could not hurt to be told, especially when those words came from Douglas – after all the scorn.

Douglas continued driving, a contented smile playing around his mouth. Martin watched him, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not make head nor tail of the scheme. What was Douglas up to? He could not genuinely be trying to be helpful, could he?

Catching a glimpse of the first traffic sign announcing the airport caused Martin to dismiss that notion without further thought. The whole thing was just designed to wreak havoc, a staging for Douglas to enjoy from the sidelines.

When Douglas had parked the car, Martin got out and yanked his bag from the boot. He stormed towards the entrance and all but ran through the small terminal afterwards, but when he stepped on the airfield, Carolyn headed his way, Arthur in tow.

“You–” she started, pointing a warning finger at Martin, but Arthur just continued to stare at the ground.

“Hello Carolyn, hello Arthur, I’ll make my round.”

Bag still in hand, Martin attempted to flee.

“You wait!” she commanded and Martin stopped dead in his tracks. “Listen, I don’t want to know what it was that you told Arthur yesterday, but it managed to keep him quiet and subdued for the entire evening.”

Her expression softened and she looked almost wistful.

“It was like that one time when I took Herc to see a bullfight,” she said, but then the fire returned to her eyes. “Don’t misunderstand me, I appreciate a moping man like the next person, but I expect this phase of dejection to stop the moment we lift off.”

“Carolyn, I–”

“Stop it!” she barked and poked her finger into Martin’s chest. “I don’t want to hear your flimsy excuses. I want Arthur to be his unbearable chipper self again and you will bring that about unless you want me to book YMCA bunk beds for the rest of the year!”

She spun around and stalked away, Arthur trotting alongside her.

A deep chuckle sounded from behind his back and Martin inhaled, reluctantly surrendering to the well-known feeling he hated so much. There was no doubt about it, though: the hot water he was already manoeuvring in had officially started to boil.


	3. Chapter 3

“Mango juice anyone?”

Martin heaved a sigh.

“Arthur, in the half hour after you had brought us coffee, you offered us tea, milk, pineapple juice, tomato juice, and now... mango juice. So in god’s name, bring me mango juice.”

Instead of leaving the flight deck, Arthur continued to wait, his expression somewhat shamefaced. “The point is... we don’t have any.”

“Then why did you–?”

“I just wanted to see if you’re all right and I ran out of things we _had_ ,” Arthur explained.

“Of course we are all right, aren’t we, Douglas?”

“Are we?”

“Yes, we are,” Martin hissed. Torn between trying to cheer Arthur up to make him return to the galley and giving him a reason to stay, Martin cursed his luck. Although Arthur was driving him up the wall, being alone with Douglas was not much better because he kept dropping regular ‘I love you’s’ – six between Fitton and Liverpool and three since they had lifted off again.

“You could give Douglas chocolates,” Arthur remarked.

“Why on earth–?” Martin started.

“Or Douglas could give you chocolates.”

That last statement managed to put a frown on Douglas’s face and this obviously spurred Arthur on to elaborate his idea.

“We _have_ chocolates, you know,” he explained excitedly. “In a box. They look like they’ve got powdered sugar on them, but they haven’t. They’re old, actually. But they still taste good. I know that because I had one. But the rest is still there.”

“No, thank you,” Douglas said calmly, but no degree of composedness could convince Arthur to leave, it seemed.

“But you’re sure everything is all right?”

“Yes, everything’s fine, Arthur,” Martin reassured him. “Isn’t it, Douglas?” he asked pointedly.

“The very epitome of harmonious,” Douglas growled and finally – equally bewildered and soothed by the words – Arthur left the cockpit.

Martin breathed in deeply. This was going to end in a complete disaster. He could already feel Douglas’s eyes on him, but enjoyed the few seconds until the next trial began.

“Now, Martin, what exactly has happened that made Carolyn the wicked witch and Arthur an adipose infant in a loincloth?”

“A what?” Martin turned his head.

“Cupid,” Douglas clarified with a grin.

“Oh… well, something I said to him yesterday.”

The raised eyebrow told Martin that the explanation was far too rudimentary.

“I explained to him that you didn’t mean it when you said… you know.”

“Oh Martin!” Douglas exclaimed. “You all but shattered his belief in mankind and expected this not to come with any repercussions? We can be thankful that he isn’t the Roman god after all. Imagine putting bow and arrow in his capable hands!”

They grimaced in unison.

“You started it,” Martin said accusingly.

“I did, didn’t I?” Douglas smirked. “Then I shall bear his endeavours with stoic indifference.”

That was exactly what everyone’s line of action should be, Martin decided inwardly. Indifference sounded like a feasible plan and as if to test Martin’s newfound resolve, Arthur barged in again.

“Hi chaps,” he muttered with his mouth full. “Mum says that now that I’ve opened the box, I have to eat the chocolates. Want some?”

Dutifully, Martin took the chocolates. He maintained a stony face and a strictly professional façade for the rest of the flight and during the bus journey, he even accepted Douglas’s friendly offer of a newspaper.

The gift turned out to be a puzzle of ‘I love you’s’ scribbled between the lines, and when Carolyn demanded he share some pages, Martin had to engage in an argument to keep them although he would have given his right arm to get rid of them.

Later, freed from the bus and the newspaper securely stuffed into his uniform, he was squashed into a taxi instead, caught between a door and Douglas. Only when they finally arrived at the hotel did Martin feel a first spark of hope.

Climbing the stairs behind Douglas, Martin envisioned a boring, but thankfully uneventful evening. Perhaps he could order something to eat because he would definitely not leave his room again unless flight duty demanded it. Though in the light of the creaking staircase covered by a moth-eaten carpet, he seriously doubted that there was any kind of service this hotel offered.

“Skipper... and Douglas!”

Loud steps approached on the staircase and frantically, Martin looked around, but he was trapped. Arthur had already caught up with them and clutched the handrail in an attempt to steady himself.   

“I have something for you,” he wheezed and took a moment to catch his breath. “I asked the man at the reception, but although the sign said that they speak English, he didn’t get what I was saying.”

“I have two words for you,” Douglas addressed him from his exalted position further up the stairs. “What and why?”

“I said something like if he had a girlfriend or a boyfriend and if he wanted to go out or just go for a walk or do something nice or something of that sort where would he go and how far away is it?” Arthur sputtered and gasped for breath afterwards.

“Oh, now I understand,” Douglas said.

“Well, he didn’t, so he gave me this.” He energetically waved a city map, unfolding it right there.

“Water,” his voice sounded from behind the large sheet of paper. “I guess it’s nice there.”

“Well, erm, I’m tired and…” Martin began, yet hopeful eyes peeked over the map’s edge and silenced him.

“Yes, Martin, what do you say? A walk along one of the Navigli? To please Arthur – _and_ Carolyn?” Douglas asked.

It would please Arthur greatly, as he was already bouncing on his toes, and Martin was sure that Douglas was equally amused, although for less innocent reasons.

 _Damn it, how does that man always manage to modify reality at will? And with me as the stupid sod bearing the brunt of the embarrassment?_ Martin thought, but nodded, resigning himself to his fate.

“Oh, that’s brilliant, you’ll have so much fun! I wish I had a date too!” Arthur exclaimed enthusiastically before his face became struck by guilt all of a sudden. “Of course not with you, Douglas. Or you, Skipper, I just–”

“Yes, yes, we get it,” Martin interrupted him. “Now go on, Douglas, we’ll meet in the lobby in half an hour.”

Douglas smiled down at him.

“What an alluring prospect,” he said and then quickly ascended the remaining steps to the tread.

 _That had sounded almost sincere_ , Martin pondered on the way to his room. Slightly bemused, he entered it and was welcomed by the typical bleakness of continental low-budget accommodations. There was just a single hanger in the wardrobe, and because the door could only be closed with great difficulty, Martin directly started to rummage around in his bag without bothering to unpack. Yet the content was not promising.

 _Good god, am I seriously wondering what to wear? Ridiculous!_ he reprimanded himself. This was not real. This was an Arthur-appeasing, mid-dare fake date.

Yet fake or not, it was most likely the best he was going to get this week – or this year – and so he grabbed a dark shirt and the newest pair of jeans.

Feeling relatively presentable, he went downstairs, but his self-confidence vanished in the moment he saw Douglas. Not one greying hair out of place and the white shirt as crisp as if directly from the cleaner’s, he radiated the suave appeal that Martin suspected had to be ingrained in his genes somewhere.

“Let’s take the cab,” Douglas suggested and led the way outside.

“Which cab?”

“That one.” Douglas marched to the waiting car and opened the door for Martin. “I’ll tell you something about where we’re going.”

Baffled, Martin sat down whilst Douglas climbed into the taxi on the other side.

“Naviglio Grande, per favore.” The car set in motion and Douglas turned towards Martin. “So, a Naviglio is basically a canal, but don’t let yourself be fooled by the humble English term. Those waterways are the reason why Milan can look back at such an extraordinarily successful history. The oldest Naviglio was already built in Hadrian’s times, but especially the middle ages saw a considerable expansion – the marble needed for the cathedral is just one example of the goods that were transported.”

“They dug a canal through the city? Really?” Martin asked.

“Almost to the cathedral’s very porch. Ah, look, here we are.”

The driver blocked a tramway to let them get out and in the ensuing shouting match between him and the conductor, Martin and Douglas escaped towards a small street lined by a stone railing.

Sceptically, Douglas peeked over it.

“But as you can see here, when empty because of maintenance work, the once mighty Naviglio is simply a long stretch of mud with some admittedly interesting things in it.”

Martin searched the brown mass. “Boots, I think.”

“The most prevalent species world-wide in almost any body of water.”

“And a bicycle.”

“In contrast to Amsterdam, a rare sighting in these latitudes.”

Martin laughed, but could not suppress a sigh afterwards.

“You really know everything,” he said and managed to keep the bitterness at bay. “And even when you’re standing next to an empty canal, you sell it as an attraction. How do you do that?”

“Mmh, well, it’s as simple as that: I’m anxious to please.”

That smile again. Spellbound by it, Martin searched his memory. Since when did Douglas smile at him like that? He had only been sneering until now, hadn’t he?

At a loss what to make of it, Martin cleared his throat. “No honestly, how do you do that?”

“Experience, Martin. I’ve seen so many places and had so much more time to learn things.”

“Not _so_ much more.”

“But the decisive factor is that I learned about the _world_ and not, well, books by heart.”

Before Martin could formulate a retort, Douglas straightened.

“Sorry for that. It’s a habit, I guess,” he said. “Let me treat you to a dinner to compensate for my rudeness.”

He motioned Martin towards a small restaurant, and whilst Martin was still processing the fact that Douglas had apologised to him, _unasked_ , the low light and the melodious chattering of the few guests subtly wrapped him up in another world and cut him off from the day’s hustle. What put him completely at ease, though, was Douglas laughing about himself when he ordered for both of them in his apparently rusty Italian. Astonished, Martin noticed that he could not even find fault with the fact that he had not been asked what he would like to eat.

 _Why not relinquish control? Or rather stop deceiving myself that I have it,_ Martin thought to himself. Without question the pasta Douglas had ordered would taste delicious, just like the carpaccio. On top of all, the wine was a revelation and better than anything Martin had had before. At the second glass, his head already started to swim a little, yet perhaps the effortless way Douglas entertained him with anecdotes from his time with Air England was also a reason. There simply was no necessity to think.

In the course of the evening Martin learned that Douglas had won a bet against a minister Martin just knew the name of, prompting the man to sing the national anthem in front of a group of waiting journalists. At an equally important occasion, Douglas had hid the travelling lemon among the equipment of a band called The Oranges, and besides that, he had smuggled a dissident out of Poland in the eighties by disguising him as a stewardess – or as a co-pilot? Martin gradually lost track of the events, but whatever Douglas recounted, it cemented his undisputable brilliance.

 _Brilliant!_ The realisation that he was now officially thinking like Arthur almost had Martin snort out loud. It was most likely the wine, he thought to himself and ordered another glass. He had somehow lost count of the amount he had drunk, but it could not hurt to become a bit more like Arthur, could it? Perhaps he would get to the point where it would stop bothering him that, in contrast to the man opposite him, he was a failure.

“Martin, how many glasses of wine have you had?” Douglas ripped him out of his musings.

“Erm, I…” Martin began, but his tongue refused to cooperate. “Three?” he slurred.

“At least four. I think we’ll better return to the hotel.” Douglas got up.

Martin made an attempt to finish the glass before Douglas returned from his talk with the waiter.

“Let me help you with that.”

His glass was taken out of his hands and then Douglas guided him outside the restaurant and into a waiting taxi.

“Martin, I’m sorry, I should have paid more attention to how much you were drinking,” Douglas said.

“S’okay,” Martin replied. “You can start now.”

“I’m not sure that I like what you’re implying.”

Martin could not think of a meaningful answer. All he knew was that he did not want to go back to his awful room where everything was dreary, including himself.

“I’ve alr’dy got an idea.”

The taxi pulled over and Martin, whose stomach had started to feel slightly queasy in the course of the journey, clambered out of the car. On an almost direct path he walked into the hotel and then to the small counter in the lobby. When the receptionist eventually popped over to serve him, the vague idea of a bar became a delightful reality. Martin sat down on one of the stools.

“Digestive,” he ground out and promptly a small glass with a liquid the colour of the Naviglio appeared in front of him. After Martin had knocked it back, the alcohol happily burnt its way through his veins – the feeling of gnawing frustration stayed, though.

Wood was moved over tiles, which told Martin that Douglas had joined him at the bar. “Martin, I really think you shouldn’t–”

“I know, but I don’t care,” Martin grumbled.

“This is the last one, do you hear me?”

Glowering at the empty glass, Martin felt the telltale signs of habitual opposition stirring up and automatically, he waved to get another drink.

“Martin, I must insist–”

“Oh, shut it, Mr Perfect!”

The receptionist turned bartender placed the glass on the counter and Martin downed it immediately.

Had the wooden board moved away? Or was everything nearer all of a sudden? Martin could not decide which one it was, and seriously, what difference did it make? All of this was just a pack of lies anyway.

“You see, if this was real…” Martin paused, struggling to connect the words to his initial thought again.

“What was real?”

“If we… went out, and you… flirted with me…”

“What then?”

“Well, it wouldn’t happen… in the first place. Everything.” Martin traced a circle with his hand through the air, but he got dizzy just by looking at the movement. “Not only because you’re not… well, you know. But… because someone like you would never go out with... me.”

“Now, this is–”

“And you know what?” Martin addressed the empty glass in front of him. “The irony… you’re completely my type. Successf’l, sophishticated, quick-…” he paused in search for the word, “…witted. Everything I’m not.”

“Don’t… your strengths lie elsewhere.”

“Sure,” Martin said tonelessly. 

“Look at me,” Douglas commanded and as if on cue, Martin’s head complied although he had the impression that the movement made his brain whirl around uncontrollably.

“You’ve got more perseverance in you than half a dozen men.”

Perse- what? It did not matter. “Idiocy you mean.”

“No, I mean courage, Martin.”

“Ha!… The courage… to become the worst pilot in history.”

He focused on the glass again. Or were there two?

“I won’t hear any more of that. Come on, I’ll get you to your room.”

“No, I–” Martin protested, but was yanked from his stool before he could finish the sentence. The painful grip around his arm rendered resistance futile and so Martin stumbled through the hallway and up the stairs. In front of his room, there was a brief moment of complete disorientation when he felt his jacket being taken off. He heard a jangle of keys and the door was opened.

“Now go to bed and sleep it off,” Douglas said and gently pulled him into the room. “Tomorrow you’ll be fine again.”

Martin blinked, Douglas’s shoulder too near to focus on, but he preferred the dark fabric to the grey in drab of his room.

“Erm, Martin.”

A tug at his arm made Martin realise that he was holding on to a sleeve. Before he could let go, his thoughts digressed though, and were irretrievably led astray the moment he breathed in deeply. Douglas always smelled good... so good. _He was_... _safe place... the only other one._

“Ex’pt for my family… no one’s ever told me.” Martin closed his eyes. There was no garish light any more, just that reassuring smell.

“Told you what?”

“What you said… what you wrote in the… paper today.” Martin snuffled, leaning forwards to support his weight on the firm warmth he knew was waiting there.

“For the sake of your rank and this jacket,” he heard, but arms encircled him cautiously to steady him.

“I’m sorry, but…” Martin’s mind clouded up in the calming movement of Douglas’s chest. Relieved, he gave up trying to grasp reality until he heard a voice through the mist.

“Hm?” he asked.

“I said it’s all right, Martin.”

Swaying a bit, he was under the impression that he was being moved, but who cared, as long as everything still felt so incredibly comfortable... his legs gave way and his mind drifted off... but everything was all right...


	4. Chapter 4

Martin breathed in and pulled the scratchy material of his blanket closer. His mind drifted in and out of sleep, clinging to painless oblivion, but failing when the headache demanded its all-encompassing share.

“Oh... damn it,” he groaned.

The blanket’s edge had got under his face somehow, making it even more impossible to sleep. Trying to get rid of the mess tattooing creases into his face, Martin pushed the bed cover away, hitting the wall in the process.

“Huh? What?” grumbled the wall.

Martin gave a minute start and his frazzled mind pieced together some of the sketchy information his senses supplied. Was there someone in his bed?

“Martin, are you awake?” he heard a whisper.

It was just Douglas. Martin closed his eyes again and began to nod off.

_I’m in my bed, so everything’s... Douglas is in my bed!_

Jumping up before he had even opened his eyes properly did not prove a workable course of action. Martin stumbled two steps backwards and lost his balance, struck down by the devastating headache and a pair of shoes in his way. He collided with the window sill, the additional stab of pain in his back knocking the wind out of him the moment he sank down on the floor.

“Ouch, oh...”

“Are you all right?”

He heard shuffling and a shadow rose from the mattress.

“Yes, yes, don’t worry.” A mental check affirmed his claim and Martin saw Douglas laying back on the bed again. The weak morning light shining through the open windows took some getting used to, but only when they had adapted to it did Martin really trust his eyes.

“Douglas!”

“Hm?” A head turned. “What?”

“Why are you in my bed?” The shrillness of his own voice made Martin flinch.

“You were a bit… clingy, so I stayed.”

Clingy? What on earth did that mean? Martin searched his memory. Oh yes, the blanket! It had not been a blanket after all. It had been Douglas’s jacket.

“I think, I... god, what did we do?” Martin felt panic rising. How could Douglas keep so calm?

“Sleep, if I’m not mistaken.”

“But... but... nothing happened, did it?” Martin asked. “I mean, erm, apart from... the sleep.”

“Going by the fact that we’re still clothed, I’m quite positive it didn’t.”

“Quite positive?” Martin shrieked, pain accentuating every syllable.

“After spending part of the seventies not being sure with whom or… _what_ I had sex, this is the utmost I’m prepared to guarantee.”

His mouth hanging open, Martin stared at the man who had just rolled to the side to prop up his head. As if he was engaging in an everyday chat!

“I’m... I... Douglas, I’m...” His words failed him, but he was relieved to see a small smile appear on Douglas’s face.

“Don’t worry, nothing unseemly transpired during the time we shared this bed.”

Martin exhaled. “Thank goodness! Gosh, I’m glad.” He massaged his temples, but the pain refused to abate. “Just the thought that–”

“What?” The harsh tone startled Martin out of his stupor. Douglas had fixed him with an angry gaze that would have been able to strangle someone had it materialised.

“I... I just wanted to say that... that if we–”

“Had sex, you’d be completely scandalised?”

Douglas did not sound hurt, but what exactly did he sound like?

“Yes! No! I mean, I...” Martin was lost. “You and me, we’re... you’re...”

Disappointment flitted over Douglas’s furious expression, activating a ritualistic reaction at last.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to offend you,” Martin apologised hastily. “I’m really, truly, sorry...erm...”

“About what? That the very thought of sex with me repulses you?”

“No! That’s not what I meant!” Martin buried his face in his hands. That headache had to go away immediately or he was doomed.

“Am I really apologising for the fact that we didn’t have... well, you know?” Martin asked.

“Sex,” Douglas finished deadpan.

“Yes, that.”

“No, not _that._ ” Douglas seemed to ponder for a moment. “Say it,” he demanded.

“I don’t see the use–”

“Oh, but I do,” Douglas insisted. “So say the word.”

“There’s no reason to–”

Douglas groaned, stopping Martin mid-sentence. “Dear me, it’s true.”

“What? What is true?” Martin asked.

“Martin, I’m thinking of the second reason why it’s virtually impossible that we had sex this night. First of all, you were so inebriated, it borders on insolence to believe I would have taken advantage of that. But secondly, and sadly, it’s quite clear that you would make a Victorian bow down in awe.”

As if everything had been said, Douglas rolled on his back.

“What?”

“To go even further back in time: You’re a veritable Jane Austen of the twenty-first century, Martin,” Douglas explained. “Plenty of declarations and vows. When it comes to carnal knowledge though, you have no idea where to find the dictionary.”

“This is...” Martin tried to form a coherent thought amidst the confusion in his brain. “That’s none of your business and it’s not true.”

Could he sound even more like a petulant child? Bewildered, Martin focused on the man on his bed who contemplated the ceiling like he had no care in the world. What on earth was going on?

“It’s not true, you say? Well, let’s see how far I would have managed to take this.”

Paralysed, Martin remained at the foot of the wall. Part of him was convinced that all of this was not really happening because he could not possibly be sitting in a hotel room on the floor, Douglas on his bed, lecturing him about inhibitions. So should he object? Leave? Briefly Martin weighed his options, but something rooted him to the spot that was stronger than his reservations and he strongly suspected that it was the hangover.

“Good then,” Douglas began, “provided that you had stopped drinking after the second glass of wine, I can assure you that we wouldn’t have made it to the bed – at least not directly. So the wall next to the door sees most of the action and of course first of all, I get rid of that button.”

“What button?” Martin asked before he knew it.

“The topmost button of your shirt, your pyjamas – whatever you’re wearing, Martin. You’re always buttoned up to the very top and I have no idea what’s under that collar. Not that I haven’t wondered, mind you!”

“You haven’t–” There were too many negations in that sentence for Martin to grasp the content.

“Chest hair?” Douglas continued. “Inferring from the forearms, there could be some, but not too much. And then there remains another big question: What does all the man-with-a-vanning do with that body? Nothing disadvantageous, so much is clear.”

 _Say something!_ Martin encouraged himself, but all that came to his mind was a ‘thank you’ for the unexpected compliment, which he bit back with some effort.

“Well, now that the buttons are done with, it’s time to examine if the delightful flush you sported yesterday morning extends to the chest. I bet it does, and it makes the skin so hot to the touch that hands are not enough to get an adequate picture.” Douglas turned his head to Martin. “Would you have managed to unbutton my shirt? Rather not, because that inordinate amount of stuttering you do in situations that unnerve you affects your fingers too, doesn’t it?”

“I…” What was he supposed to say? Or was that a rhetorical question?

“I thought so,” Douglas said and examined the ceiling again. “But do me a favour and allow me to bury my nose in the crook of your neck while I carry out the tedious task of opening my own shirt. I’m convinced that the combination of arousal and Gerti results in an almost perfect aroma…” Douglas paused and inhaled. “Well, another button and my fingers are free again and can travel under your shirt at last... around that lithe body that is always so cruelly hidden in our off-the-peg uniforms.”

He sighed. “What a waste. To cover it in cheap synthetic fibre, bah… it  is made to be touched; a tableau for my hands to explore, tickle and stroke, and only the urge to comb through your hair could coax my fingers away from it. But no, I make use of the convenient position of my head -- travel up your throat, along a soft path through your hair and then I breathe in… and by god, I’m sure that now is the time I pull you the remaining steps to the bed, don’t you think?”

Martin opened his mouth and then closed it again. The rest of his body had decided to declare a strike, just the heat creeping up his throat proved that he was still very much alive.

 _Leave!_ he ordered himself. But now? This was a settling of scores after all, the payback for what Douglas had obviously regarded as a personal insult. Wasn’t it? Nervously, Martin tried to decipher the satisfied expression on Douglas’s face, but it was inscrutable, as always.

“Wait!” Douglas commanded, startling Martin who had not even prepared to get up.

“Too quick. By far too quick,” Douglas admonished the ceiling. “So many things are easier to accomplish whilst standing up. Undressing trousers, for example. Now, what should I expect in terms of underwear? I tried my best to sneak a peek yesterday, but you successfully hid behind the wardrobe’s door while packing. Well, then for the sake of simplicity: no underwear.”

“Douglas!” Thank god, he had his voice back. Simultaneously, Martin meant to have seen a mischievous grin, hopefully a sign that Douglas showed mercy and this was over. But be it as it may, he would not wait a second longer.

“You won, all right?” Martin exclaimed and scrambled to his feet. His headache formed a colossally destructive alliance with the adrenalin spurring him on and he needed a moment to steady himself on the wall.

“Don’t fret, your virtuousness is still undamaged,” Douglas remarked casually. “For that to change, I first would have to make short work of your waistband and fly. Hmh, yet as we’ve already proceeded that far, it would be a shame to omit those items.”

Martin closed his eyes to stabilise himself, and in this brief stretch of darkness, he saw what he had successfully avoided until then. The pictures Douglas had painted in such vivid colours suddenly flashed through his mind and although his eyes snapped open, the damage was done. Without sparing his surroundings another look, Martin aimed for the door.

“Where do you want to go, Martin?” he heard when he bolted out of the room, but he just slammed the door shut and walked down the corridor. Carefully he descended the first flight of stairs, his headache only partially blinding him. When he had reached the lower floor though, he stopped.

Douglas was right. Where was he supposed to go? The street? He had neither jacket nor money, and besides, it was too early in the morning for, well, anything. Dejectedly, he sat down on the stairs, his head thankful for the rest it was allowed.

 _Damn, what a mess! And is it possible to be more pathetic?_ Martin thought to himself. With all the vigour he was able to muster, he tried not to think of his room and what Douglas had said, and particularly not how surprisingly arousing all of it had been.

It was just words, nothing else. The cunning bastard had been out to test some limits and it was of no importance that, for a moment, everything had felt real and almost too good.

Because nothing of it was true.

 _And what if Douglas realised what was on my mind before I left the room_? God, that would be the ultimate leverage for him.

Martin inhaled. How would his life look like if some things stopped being a game for Douglas? If for once he could…

“Morning Skip. Up so early?”

Gasping in surprise, Martin raised his head. Contrary to his usual approach, Arthur had obviously climbed the stairs silently.

“Yes, I went... for a walk,” Martin answered.

“In a shirt? It’s a bit chilly outside.”

“Yes... I... it was a very fast walk. I didn’t want to get, erm... too hot.”

The lame excuse pained Martin even more than his headache, but Arthur seemed completely unperturbed.

“Guess you’re hungry then.” He shook the paper bag he was carrying. “Want something to eat?”

“Yes, I suppose I do.” Before Arthur could come up with the idea of reaching into the bag, Martin stood up and went down the hallway towards Arthur’s room. He needed somewhere to stay above all.

“Yesterday, Mum gave me ten euros and told me to buy myself something to eat,” Arthur said and unlocked the door. “So I went outside and there was this ice cream shop. But I couldn’t decide what to choose, so I went to my room again to think about it.”

“And what did you take?” Martin asked, shutting the door.

“Oh, nothing, I fell asleep and when I woke up this morning, wow, was I hungry! But this time I didn’t make the same mistake again. I went to a bakery and gave the friendly lady my money, making some signs and all for her to give me as much of the pastry as she could.”

“Clever.”

Arthur beamed with pride and peeked into the bag.

“So now I’ve got, erm, a cone with something yellowish inside, a small tart with something yellowish and a cherry on top, a turnover with – wait a second – something yellow inside. Ah, this here’s got chocolate on it–” He retrieved it to present it to Martin.

“With vanilla filling,” Martin finished for him.

“So you want one?”

Martin’s stomach revolted at the mere sight of his prospective breakfast.

“No, I’m still slightly, er… I’m full from yesterday’s dinner.”

“Oh, how was your date?”

“It wasn’t a… it was… I don’t know.” Martin sighed.  

“It wasn’t good?” The alarm in Arthur’s voice forced Martin to gather his wits.

“No, yes, yes, it was good.” What he could still remember had really been the best date in years. There had even been sex involved. Somehow.

“See, I told you no one says it without meaning it,” Arthur declared and started to munch his pastry.

Martin looked around and finally found a glass in the tiny bathroom. If he let the water run long enough, it would hopefully taste somewhat acceptable. Contemplating the jet, he shook his head. Fortunately Arthur had no idea what Douglas was prepared to say without meaning it. The array of cream pies would surely remain untouched if he had witnessed this morning’s excesses.

Martin took a sip of the water and found it slightly chloric, which he hoped was a good sign. He returned to the room and Arthur and he ingested their respective breakfasts in quiet and relaxation. Even the headache lost some of its fierceness – that was until a knock on the door made both of them jump.

Martin motioned Arthur to remain sitting on the bed and pressed the handle. He was sure that it was Douglas and maybe it was possible to avert some of the mayhem that would surely ensue.

“Douglas. Morning,” he ground out.

Through the crack, Douglas inconspicuously handed him a key and only then did he push the door wide open.

“Hello Douglas. Want some pastry?” Arthur asked.

“No, thank you, Arthur. I just–”

“Skipper didn’t tell me much. About yesterday, I mean,” Arthur went on. “Was it good? Where did you go?”

Martin dared to look Douglas in the eye at last and the enigmatic smile he encountered there did not necessarily ease his worries.

“Further than I thought I would,” Douglas said and let his smile widen into a broad grin. He held Martin’s gaze in a silent dare to keep up his frown and annoyed, Martin gave up before everything turned into a ridiculous battle of wills.

“Your idea was excellent, Arthur,” Douglas said. “We had a very enjoyable evening. I imparted some knowledge to young Martin and, as a true friend, I’ll continue to help him solve the problems that often thwart his ambitions.”

Before Martin could shoot Douglas a furious glare, Arthur jumped up.

“Brilliant! And what have you planned for today?”

“What do you say, Martin? You take something against your headache, then rest a little, and in two hours I’ll pick you up for a late breakfast?”

Like a bulwark against any form of resistance, Arthur’s enthusiasm allowed for just one way out and Martin capitulated.

“Yes, all right.” Why could he not escape this idiotic charade? Purposefully, Douglas left, but upon the closing of the door, Arthur’s face became strangely befuddled.

“Wow, you really click, you two,” he said.

“No, we...” Martin started, but thought better of it. “All right. And why?”

“He knew that you had a headache although you hadn’t said anything about it. That’s… awesome. And a bit creepy.”

Martin gritted his teeth. Adjective variation – high time to leave as well.


	5. Chapter 5

“ _Really click,_ sure,” Martin mumbled and unlocked his door. After watching him get dead drunk, Douglas did not have to be a genius to deduce a headache.

In a side pocket of his bag, Martin found the pills and then swallowed one with a handful of water. He plunked down on the mattress and shut his eyes. Sleep. Shortly, the medication would kick in and he would sleep peacefully at last – without the lingering scent of Douglas’s aftershave.

Martin sniffed the air. There was still a trace of that smell somewhere and annoyed, he exchanged his pillow with another one. Yet afterwards, his endeavours to doze off were not successful regardless.

He looked at his watch. Still over an hour until Douglas would pick him up.

And then? Breakfast, Douglas had said. Two colleagues spending the morning together, bridging the time between work hours. Nothing else.

 _And whatever Douglas decides to dish out, I won’t let him mess with my mind this time,_ Martin decided. The last episode had been the result of an unfair distribution of weapons as a hangover was no match for Douglas’s eloquence. How could that man say such things without the slightest tremor in his voice?

“Oh, damn it!” Martin rolled over and sat up. He was not going to recall those words, he simply wouldn’t!

A cold shower seemed like a reasonable alternative to the unbidden images that were waiting to throw him off track again, and hurriedly, he undressed and stepped into the tub. The sound of the jet took his thoughts off the present chaos as successfully as the ice cold water kept other unwanted stirrings at bay.

Shaving, putting on clothes – his routines calmed him down to a degree, yet when he checked the time again and still half an hour remained until Douglas would show up, Martin’s composure started to crumble.

He switched on the TV and watched some minutes of Italian commercials. Then switched it off again, wandered to the window, looked outside, went to the door and back, and when he felt the remote control in his hand again, he let it drop like live coal.

 _I’m not nervous,_ he told himself inwardly. _Or excited. I’m just impatient. That’s all. There’s no need… A knock. Finally!_

Breathing in deeply before automatically glancing in the mirror in passing, Martin opened the door.

“Ready?” Douglas asked.

“Yes, of course,” Martin answered and made a point of leading the way outside the hotel. Heavy traffic rolled by and despite the bright sun, the air was not yet very warm. Arthur had been right.

“It’s not far away.” Douglas turned into the next small alley and for a while, they walked quietly.

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” Martin said. “It’s enough when Arthur sees us leaving together, you can, well, go your own way now.”

“You must be joking.” Douglas did not even acknowledge the statement with a turn of his head.

“Why? There’s no need to… I mean, we’re not…”

“What?”

Martin hunted for words. “Erm… involved.”

“You see, this nondescript term is evidence enough,” Douglas stated. “There is still great need.”

“But... but nothing like this morning,” Martin hedged.

“Of course not. Those words shall never pass my lips again.”

Suddenly the shadowy street ended and before them a gigantic white square opened up. As if they had sprung out of nowhere, throngs of tourists populated the piazza and Martin meandered around them more or less successfully. When he risked a look at the impressive structure of the white cathedral, its brightness slightly bedazzled him and he bumped into a man with a camera.

“Scusi.” Douglas’s voice was accompanied by Douglas’s hand in the small of Martin’s back, steering him through the people and around a corner. It even remained glued to him when they marched towards a wide street, yet the moment Martin wanted to object, he was ushered towards a door. Douglas stepped ahead and held it open, introducing him to a confusion of voices and music.

“Signori!”

A waiter pointed at a small table and the hand on Martin’s back returned, pushing him in the right direction. Whilst Martin still tried to pull his chair back far enough to sit down, Douglas was already ordering.

“Those aisles here are really narrow,” Martin cursed. “Wonder how they serve people.”

“An Italian waiter knows no limits. And he does everything with the utmost grace and a twinkle in his eye.”

“Now, you’re in a good mood,” Martin scoffed and squeezed into his chair.

“Oh, I have every reason to be. Foremost because of the pleasure the content of that tray is going to elicit in you.”

Swiftly, the waiter placed the items on the table.

“Yes, black coffee!” Martin rejoiced. “And nothing but toast and jam. What a relief.”

In contrast to Arthur’s sticky assortment, this breakfast really looked edible and Martin sipped on the coffee with a thankful sigh. Butterless toast and jam went perfectly with the bitter beverage and Martin would have gone on with his simple enjoyment had Douglas’s knee not touched his under the small table.

“Sorry,” Martin said and looked up. Douglas did not react though, he just continued to fix Martin with his gaze.

“What?” Self-consciously, Martin took the napkin to wipe his mouth. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Not directly,” Douglas said calmly. “It’s just that the dark blue shirt yesterday was already formidable, but the light blue you’re wearing today brings out the colour of your eyes almost indecently.”

“Douglas!” Hectically, Martin looked around, however no one seemed to pay attention to them.

“Believe me, this is necessary.” Douglas took a bite of his toast and chewed, totally at ease. “If your drunken ramblings taught me one thing, then it’s that the times of good-natured teasing must be over. You’ve paid dearly enough to fulfil your dream.”

“Good-natured teasing?” Martin grunted. “Oh, you mean the scorn you poured on me in all those years?”

“Possibly,” Douglas said and paused to drink some coffee. “I frankly admit that it will take some getting used to on my part, yet the whole endeavour is made a lot easier by something like the charming dimple forming each time you smile that slightly crooked smile. Just like now.”

Martin schooled his face into what he hoped would be a serious expression. “Stop constantly saying such things!” he whispered urgently.

“You don’t enjoy compliments?”

“Well, yes, I... I do, but...” Damn, what was he to respond now? “I don’t know, you could tell me that I’m a good pilot or something along those lines.”

He received a dubiously raised eyebrow as a warning of what was to come and dutifully, Martin prepared himself for a scathing remark.

“In the old days, I would have declared that it’s not wise to combine good intentions and lying,” Douglas said, leaning into his chair. “Yet in this new era, I point out that I first want to focus on your most obvious, but also most neglected qualities. Like, for example, the way you don’t make any attempt at taming your curls. I’m convinced that you have no idea how delightfully this contrasts your uptight personality.”

“I’m not uptight!” Martin hissed.

“Oh yes, you are. And like so many other of your peculiarities, it has its charm, but at your age, you should be above certain things. Yet worry not, dear friend, because you can rely on my help.”

Martin huffed out a laugh and shook his head.

“You doubt me?” Douglas asked, adopting a guilty expression at the same time. “And rightly so, I have to admit. I almost criminally neglected parts of your lessons.”

Douglas had not once taken his eyes off of him and did not do so now, but Martin could not shake the impression that the look started to carry a completely different meaning all of a sudden.

So what exactly was Douglas talking about? If it was not the challenge of this morning, then what else could it be?

Martin froze. He wouldn’t dare! Not here among all those people!

Douglas had not said it yet today, Martin reckoned. Not when they'd woken up or when he'd fantasised about… he could not even finish the thought under the other man’s unabashed stare.

And what if he really said it? Involuntarily, Martin’s hand tensed up around the napkin he was holding.

Douglas leaned forwards a bit. The crinkle in the corners of his dark eyes became more pronounced and a small smile heralded what would follow. Martin blinked, trying to end the spell, but Douglas drew nearer.

 _Hell, he’s going to say it, right here in the middle of the café. All I have to do is start a conversation, interrupt him. Anything!_ Martin ordered himself inwardly, desperately battling the need to hear the words again. Just this once…

With the force of a sledgehammer, Martin was yanked from his reverie when Douglas frowned and reached into his jacket. But a second later, Martin felt his mobile buzzing too. Someone had sent him a message.

Before he could hunt for his phone in his pockets, Douglas already announced the content of the text.

“We have to be at the airport an hour earlier, so we’d better leave.”

Douglas stood up and went to the counter to pay. Slightly numb, Martin sidled around the other tables to the door, and although he was greeted by a warm spring breeze outside, his mind did not want to connect to reality.

Had Douglas been on the verge of saying it? Or hadn’t he?

Training his eyes mostly on the ground, Martin followed Douglas’s steps to the hotel. Perhaps he would say it now or when they arrived at the hotel. Or he would sneak a note into his pocket in the taxi. Or during the bus journey.

Nothing happened, though. Only Arthur added some excitement, complaining that the pastry made him feel sick on the bus. Otherwise, complete silence pervaded the trip to the airport and when the unnatural quiet even accompanied the checks, Martin reached the conclusion that he had misunderstood that look. And if that was the case, he could only hope that Douglas had not read his mind like so often, realising what he had been thinking.

When they were finished with the jet and settled down in the cockpit, Douglas extracted the Italian newspaper he had already been reading during the bus ride, effectively hiding behind it. For a little while, Martin studied the headlines of the front page and as a mental exercise deduced some of the words.

“Neither have you,” Douglas’s voice sounded from behind the newspaper.

“What?”

“Said it.” The newspaper was lowered and Douglas’s eyes locked with Martin’s the moment the barrier disappeared.

“I don’t know what you mean,” was all Martin could come up with, but the look he received in return told him that Douglas was not falling for the feigned ignorance.

 _Blast, of course he knew what I was thinking!_ Martin tried to brave the scrutinising and watched Douglas folding the paper without glancing down.

“So what?” Martin asked and turned his head towards the front controls. Why could he never win one of those staring contests?

“Then let me hear it,” Douglas said. “You maintained that it was as easy as ordering Chow Mein.”

“I... I don’t–”  

“The start was good,” Douglas interjected, “but then you digressed.”

Embarrassed Martin catalogued the instruments in front of him without really processing what he was doing. Yet he needed to divert his attention from the situation, from that strange feeling that took his breath away and almost choked him. There was something seriously wrong with this. In fact, all of this was wrong!

“Well, I think we can officially announce a cure,” Douglas said evenly. “Rather fast work, I say, perhaps I should change my profession. Such miraculous improvement could save our struggling NHS a lot of expenses. Good then, now all that remains is that other problem.”

The tension left Martin’s body and was instantly replaced by panic.

“Stop it already, Douglas! And it’s not a problem! I…” Martin fell silent. His voice had masked Arthur’s entry and as quickly as he forced a smile on his lips, Arthur’s face fell.

“What problem, Skip?”

“Never mind, it’s not important,” Martin reassured him, but Arthur appeared to be even more alarmed.

“I mean, you’re like on your honeymoon or something and you shouldn’t have problems. You–”

“Arthur, calm down,” Douglas said. “Everything’s in perfect order. We couldn’t possibly be any happier, could we Martin? It’s just a negligible problem on Martin’s side that we were talking about.”

“What is it? Can I help,” Arthur asked eagerly.

“No, I don’t think so.” Douglas beckoned Arthur to come nearer and then whispered in his ear. The expression of worry promptly turned into a mixture of embarrassment and sympathy, unsettling Martin to the extreme.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Skip. Really, that doesn’t mean anything. I’m sure it’s just temporary,” Arthur babbled. “What about I make you a coffee? And get you something to eat? Yes, I’ll do that. I’ll be back in a minute, I’ll… yes…”

He scurried through the door, closing it with more force than strictly necessary.

“Douglas! What the hell did you tell him?” Martin asked although he was convinced that he did not want to know.  

“That you had a slight problem _performing_.”

“What?” Martin shouted and then pressed his hand on his mouth.

“It seemed like a reasonable explanation.” Douglas reclined in his seat. “I couldn’t tell him what was really on my mind, could I? And remember: A good lie should always be located somewhere near the truth.”

“But why...?” Martin failed to clothe his thoughts into words.

“As I was imagining the complete opposite, it was the perfect way out.”

“Douglas! I thought we had… an agreement?” This should not have sounded so much like a whine, but despite the lack of reproach, Douglas  raised a hand in defence.

“And I stand by my promise: Never shall I undress you with my words again.” Before Martin could even start to exhale, Douglas continued. “It’s not necessary anyway as I will simply go on where I stopped.”

“What? No!”

“Why not?” Douglas asked with a wink. “A well-travelled man like you isn’t intimidated by a bit of obscene language, is he?”

Martin compressed his lips. There was no doubt about it: the whole thing was nothing but a dare after all. It was out of the question that Douglas ever–

“Just as I thought,” Douglas carried on. “So, to get in the mood, I suggest we return to the moment I finally got rid of your trousers. As expected, my rather deft handling of the clothes, plus the extra amount of body contact had the desired effect.”

He looked down at the console between them. “If only that pesky thing wasn’t there. Ah, well, let’s pretend it wasn’t and therefore I can directly proceed with what is most natural. And I’m certain that when I kneel down and give my prize a first appraisal, I find it thoroughly filled with blood.”

“Douglas!” Martin’s eyes flitted to the door.

“You disagree? Don’t you think that after the trousers’ fabric rubbed along your member, you would be erect?”

“I...” Martin coughed. He felt his fingernails digging into the seat’s leather and the rest of his body started to lead a life of its own as well.

“You would, believe me. How long has it been since you last had sex?”

“That’s none of your–” Martin began automatically.

“So long?” Douglas asked, not trying to keep the pity out of his voice. “Then I’d better set to work because you’re _very_ eager. Now can you picture me kneeling in front of you?”

Martin vehemently shook his head.

“What a shame. Can you at least imagine how it feels when I take you in hand? But wait. For a correct representation I need more details: Circumcised or not circumcised, that is the question.”

He narrowed his eyes to slits and examined Martin.

“I’d say no. And going by your almost imperceptible flinch, I’m right. Good, but that means I have to be even more careful for this adventure not to be over too quickly. So I pull back the foreskin and let my tongue circle the sensitive glans _just so_ – until you show the first signs of desperation. God, I love that moment when you realise that you’re at the mercy of whatever is going on.”

He did not need to say _‘like now’_ , as Martin knew it without even hearing it.

“I have to admit that I was a bit too fond of it, I’m afraid,” Douglas continued. “Otherwise I think I wouldn’t have ensured you ended up in so many difficulties. But it was so delicious to see you struggle.”

 _Just like now,_ those eyes added again.

“And in our particular setting, you’d also fidget around in your chair, not knowing if you want the tongue to continue its teasing or if you prefer to experience more of the mouth.”

He peered hard at Martin and came to an immediate conclusion.

“The latter,” Douglas said, satisfied. “So I let your hardness slip through my lips and engulf it as deeply as possible. But it’s not just the pressure of the lips or the light suction that will drive you frantic, no, it’s still the tongue’s work that effectively erases all coherent thought.”

Martin squeezed his eyes shut, completely overtaxed by the sensorial whirlwind Douglas unleashed. Awkwardly, he crossed his legs and prayed that Douglas would stop.

“You see, this tongue can’t just make the world rejoice with rhetoric beauty. Its role is to please in the most general sense. It travels–”

 _The door!_ Martin’s eyes snapped open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your help, Jenna!


	6. Chapter 6

Martin snatched off his hat.

“Now, my two useless–” Carolyn started, but then stopped with a frown. “Martin, what is your hat doing in your lap?”

“I… I took it off, what else?” Martin replied. “It’s… hot in here.”

“It was so in the Sahara, but you didn’t take it off!”

“I have every right to go without it,” Martin bristled. “We’re… on the ground and… and I don’t act as a captain at the moment.”

“You were hardly acting as a captain in the Sahara, yet that didn’t stop you from wearing it.” She pinched her lips so hard that she briefly seemed to be unable to speak. “Douglas, what is going on?” she ground out.

“I think the prolonged exposure to the notorious Italian temperament has rubbed off on the captain,” Douglas declared and Martin was convinced that Carolyn would explode any second. Fortunately Arthur entered the flight deck.

“I once read that there’s food that helps,” Arthur proclaimed. “But the guys at the airport restaurant wouldn’t give me oysters, or they didn’t understand that I wanted oysters, I don’t know. All I got is this here.”

Triumphantly, he pointed a green stalk at Martin, who stared at it, petrified.

“Why on earth did you…?” Carolyn began.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Douglas said and made a grab for the vegetable. “Celery is just the thing I need. What a delightful snack – high in magnesia yet low in calories. At my age, one cannot be too careful with one’s diet.”

He took a hearty bite, a sight that obviously disgusted Carolyn beyond measure.

“Good god, now all of you have taken leave of your senses. So listen carefully, I’m going to speak _very_ slowly, perhaps then the information will penetrate your minds: The idiot client won’t leave after all and he told us to stay. I’ve already made arrangements with the same hotel as last night. Prepare to return.”

That said, she remained where she was, waiting for everyone to set in motion. Martin did a mental once-over and was relieved to find that his hardness had flagged.

He fetched his bag and then stuck to Carolyn, who had returned to her slightly-less-abrasive self from the moment on he had put on his hat again.

In the half-empty bus, he sat down next to a scruffy-looking backpacker, but he did not mind the strange smell as long as it prevented him from ending up next to Douglas.

Staying wrapped up in his jacket although it was warm, Martin still felt somewhat exposed.

 _Damn it, I really_ am _inhibited,_ he thought to himself. _Or perhaps just sexually frustrated. And wouldn’t it be the perfect idea to take it out on someone in my direct vicinity – like during training? So no mucking up the pilot’s exam like ten years ago, but this time I’ll ruin my entire career for a change!_

Disbelievingly Martin watched Douglas, who, two rows in front of him, was reading his newspaper as if nothing had happened at all. Like he had not overstepped each and every boundary that should exist between friends.

 _Friends,_ Martin scoffed inwardly. _We’re long past this. I’m his puppet, a pastime activity, a..._

Martin stopped. This was Douglas. He did not do such things, did he? He had a history of disregarding rules, but apart from that, he had always had some sort of moral compass.

But why didn’t it work now? Curiously, Martin took in Douglas’s profile. The slight contempt playing around his lips, the strong jaw, the hint of a smile in the corner of his eyes – nothing had changed. And those rare moments when the smile really reached the eyes? They seemed to have become even more frequent…

 _Knock it off!_ Martin commanded himself. If Douglas ever noticed that his words had produced more than a bit of confusion, it would play right into his hands and leave just one option.

_I’d have to quit._

Repeating the sentence over and over again, Martin spent the rest of the journey in a blur. He pretended to contemplate the monotonous landscape – the lacking view of the Alps, the same repetition of motorways and suburbs for what felt like the umpteenth time. Bus, taxi, everything felt the same, horribly empty like the room he escaped to when they arrived at the hotel.

He let his bag drop on the floor and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. Who was he kidding? He would never resign. Just the thought of not seeing himself in that uniform again! No phone calls from Carolyn, no weird food from Arthur.

And no sharing a flight deck with Douglas. What would it be like, a life without his voice, the innuendos or the stories he had to tell?

 _Look at you,_ he admonished his reflection _, you can land a plane with just one engine, but you can’t imagine living without the man whose hobby it is to denigrate you – or to get you hard with a couple of sentences._

“Oh, great, I’m done for.” Martin looked away. Another cold shower? Ridiculous, but in the face of the situation it was the safest way to avoid a repeat performance of arousal and embarrassment. This time, the freezing water was already oddly familiar, too familiar it seemed as it did not reach the intended goal very quickly and his growing erection remained in a pitiful half-hard state.

Martin busied himself with lathering himself down, avoiding each contact with his overly sensitised penis and only when he was already shivering did he dare to touch it. It still felt phenomenally good, his warm hand on his cold flesh, and the simple act of pulling back the foreskin triggered a surge of thrilling memories that had Martin gasp in excitement.

“Damn it!” he swore. Letting the jet of the shower hit his front full force, Martin finished his ablutions in a hurry, yet the prolonged exposure to the water was already causing a wrinkling of his fingertips. Martin sighed. If the madness around him went on like that, his skin would definitely peel off soon.

He stepped out of the tub and started towelling himself. The best solution would be to stay in the room and wait until everything had calmed down, Martin decided, so if he heard nothing  of the client… He started at a sound. His mobile had beeped.

“What the...?” Trying to remember where he had put his jacket, he stumbled into the bedroom.

 _No restrictions on night flights in Malpensa, so this is duty related,_ Martin thought. _God, let this be duty related!_ He unlocked his phone.

_‘Announcement in lobby in 5 minutes. CKS’_

“Hell!” That was it. The universe was officially conspiring against him. ‘Announcement’ was tantamount to personal humiliation, no matter the situation, and Martin just hoped that his ruin would be painless and swift this time.

As fast as he could, he dressed in what he first got hold of in his bag. He slammed the door and ran downstairs, his tension increasing by every step and reaching its peak when Carolyn’s resolute posture came in view.

“Arthur and I will be going to La Scala tonight,” she announced the moment Martin entered the lobby.

“Let me guess,” Douglas said. “Simply to spite Herc?”

“Of course in order to spite him!”

“Wow, La Scala!” Arthur exclaimed happily. “But will they also, I don’t know, have English explanations?”

“As it’s in Italian and the people attending are Italians, I suppose there won’t be any translations,” Carolyn answered.

“But how am I supposed to know what I like?” Arthur whined. “They can’t just bring you anything!”

“They don’t _bring_ , they _give_ ,” Carolyn explained. “And I’ll tell you what’s happening, you just sit there and don’t open your mouth!”

“What? Why? Why don’t I get anything? How long will we be there?”

“It takes about three hours,” Carolyn said and Arthur looked close to collapsing.

“Three hours? I’ll be starving.”

“I’ll buy you a snack in the break, now come…”

“Why is there a break?” Arthur asked. “You mean between courses?”

“They’re called _acts_.” Carolyn was rapidly losing her patience, but Arthur’s bewilderment increased just as quickly.

“May I interrupt?” Despite his question, Douglas continued almost seamlessly. “Arthur, is it possible you harbour the idea that La Scala serves food?”

“It’s not a restaurant?” Arthur asked and Carolyn rolled her eyes.

“No, I’m afraid it isn’t,” Douglas said. “It’s an opera house and the nourishment will be of a purely intellectual kind.”

“Oh no!” Arthur shouted, yet before he could start another argument, Carolyn turned away from him to glower at Martin instead.

“Now listen carefully, Martin. Don’t think it slipped my attention that you were out all night and came back drunk.”

“I–”

She silenced him with a wave of her hand. “Arthur told me he met you in the early morning when you were sitting on the stairs with a headache. I would have never expected such behaviour of you, Martin. Douglas, why didn’t you prevent this?”

“I admit that it was partly my fault,” Douglas answered.

“What?” She shook her head. “Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. Yet as you were involved, Douglas, it’s your duty to make sure Martin stays sober at all times. Both of you don’t set foot outside the hotel, understood?”

“But you can’t–” Martin interjected.

“That’s an order!”

“Yes, Carolyn,” he muttered.

“Could we perhaps extend the radius a little?” Douglas asked. “What about the bar next door where a sad affair like a strictly non-alcoholic evening could at least be passed in a masculine atmosphere?”

“But I’m warning you, don’t get up to silly things!” she scolded him.

“Silliness is the last thing on our minds.” Douglas said and fixed Martin with his gaze. “This time we’ll get down to some very serious business.”


	7. Chapter 7

Douglas reached out and grabbed Martin’s sleeve to drag him through the door. Surprised, Martin complied, but outside the hotel he wrenched himself free. If he was to spend the evening with Douglas, interaction should be kept to a minimum and purposefully Martin aimed for the badly lit entrance next to the hotel.

“Let’s take–” Douglas started.

“The bar,” Martin said and marched towards the uncomfortably looking stools to sit down at the end of the line.  

“Tè,” Douglas said to the bartender before he added another word Martin did not understand. “Due, per favore,” he finished. Some shuffling told Martin that Douglas had sat down as well.

 _Wonderful_ , Martin thought to himself. This was going to become a great night out: He was stuck with Douglas and would be staring at a liquor cabinet without being able to have a real drink.

_Yet in the light of the previous night, drinking isn’t such a good idea anyway._

A glass was placed before him and Martin guessed by the colour of the liquid that it was Douglas’s most favourite whisky look-alike. Already the first sip of the sickly sweet ice tea sent a shudder through him.

“Do you enjoy the year? Excellent vintage.”

To disguise his laugh, Martin grunted and continued to stare at his glass.

 _I’m not going to cave in,_ he decided. It was Douglas’s fault that everything was becoming increasingly uncomfortable between them and apart from that, each incautious word could result in Douglas finding out about the unintended side effects of his therapy.

Long minutes ticked away until Douglas cleared his throat at last.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. The voice sounded uncharacteristically subdued.

“You’d better be,” Martin grumbled.

“Although I’m not aware of any offence.”

 _That_ was much more like Douglas. Frowning, Martin turned his head.

“You could have left any time,” Douglas said. “No one compelled you to listen.”

“But you…” Martin stopped. To say  he had assumed that all of it had been a dare suddenly seemed childish.

“Of course I didn’t expect you to tolerate my slightly risqué tales for so long.”

“Damn it, Douglas!” Martin hissed. “There was nothing ‘slightly risqué’ about them. You told me how you’d…”

Douglas’s face lit up in anticipation.

“You know exactly what you told me,” Martin said. “And by the way, you’re wrong about me, okay? I’m not some kind of self-imposed… prude.”

“That I shall readily believe as it was rather obvious on the plane.”

Was that a leer? The heat Martin felt creeping up his throat claimed that it was one.

“And to demonstrate even harder evidence,” Douglas growled, “I could feel it yesterday night when you resorted to some friendly, yet not so innocent frotting in lieu of bidding me goodnight.”

“What?” Flabbergasted, Martin stared at Douglas. It was clear that he had stored that particular piece of information for such a situation – a fact that did not make the moment any less awkward, Martin realised. “You said that nothing had happened!”

“Oh, you mean I should have related this titbit to you this morning?”

Martin trained his eyes on the bar again. “No, no, that’s all right. No, of course that’s not all right, I shouldn’t have… but I was drunk, I’m sorry.”

“Well, no harm done, and apart from that, there’s nothing of great interest to relate about last night. Except that you _talked._ ” Douglas let the implications of the word linger in the air until Martin could not stand it any longer.

“Then tell me already,” he whispered, forcing himself to face Douglas again. “What did I say?”

“You postulated that if it weren’t for our little show for Arthur, I’d never go out with you.”

“Oh god! I’m sorry Douglas, please forget what I said,” Martin entreated him. This was not going to be the painless public execution he had hoped for. This time Douglas would make mincemeat out of his dignity. “I... I didn’t mean...”

“Which I did not have a chance to react to as you simply rambled on. Now, regarding this issue, _you_ are wrong. We have in fact been going out for years.”

Martin closed his mouth. It was strange, but Douglas seemed to be utterly convinced of what he had said.

“Sunset over the Bosporus? The Leaning Tower in the morning mist? A trip to the lavender fields in Provence?” Douglas suggested.

“But either Carolyn or Arthur or both were with us,” said Martin.

“Minor complications. What would you have said had I asked just you?”

Martin shrugged. “Nothing. I mean, you always like an audience when you show off.”

He saw Douglas’s jaw working before he prepared to speak again.

“I chose the dusky Seine and the perfect view of Prague to add to the already striking grandeur of my person? Is that it?” he asked.

“Well, um…” Martin stopped. What were they even talking about? This did not make any sense at all and why was Douglas looking at him so unflinchingly all of a sudden? Had he leaned forwards as well? Martin was not sure, but the hand that grasped his wrist was unmistakable.

“Martin, I love you.”

“I...” Martin could barely bite back the automatic reply in kind. Douglas had sounded so remarkably honest. Yanking his hand from Douglas’s grip to show at least a semblance of outrage, Martin could not help being drawn nearer regardless. Those eyes – why had he never grasped how gentle they were? Or that mouth quirking a tiny, quizzical smile…

 _Oh god, he knows,_ flashed through Martin’s head and he jerked back.

“I’m so… so…I don’t know what came over me.”

He was about to jump up when Douglas beat him to it. Almost knocking over the stool, Douglas stood up, reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet – all of it with an air of the most intense anger Martin had ever seen on his face.

“Il conto,” Douglas barked, but before the bartender could hurry over to him, he slammed a bill on the bar and started towards the door.

 _Shit_ , Martin thought frantically. _This is… why is he…? Damn it!_ With some difficulty, he overcame his reluctance to follow Douglas, but something was exceedingly wrong and he had to find it out immediately.

The door shut in his face and Martin almost threw himself against it to get out of the bar, yet not until he reached the hotel’s first floor had he finally caught up with Douglas.

“Wait! Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have…” Martin panted. Douglas did not look back though, and just continued climbing the stairs to his floor and then went down the hallway.

“Listen, Douglas, it was, I don’t know… the heat of the moment or something.” Thankfully Douglas did not close the door after he had unlocked it, so Martin plucked up his courage and stepped inside the room after him. “I promise you that this won’t change anything. You don’t have to fear that I… Douglas?”

The forbidding back he had been addressing showed that Douglas was breathing in deeply and when Martin heard him exhale, it sounded defeated.

“Look, it was this… folly, it carried me away somehow,” Martin tried to appease him and was about to step forwards when Douglas whipped around to push the door shut. Completely caught off guard Martin retreated, but immediately met the wall with his back.

“Now let’s do this again without a horde of Italians around us and maybe it has the desired effect at last,” Douglas growled. He blocked Martin’s escape route with his arm, supporting himself on the wall.

“I love you,” Douglas said and then fell silent, just pinning Martin down with a look so fierce that in the aftermath the declaration seemed more like an accusation. Yet even the frustration resonating in the words could not hide the fact that they had sounded true.

 _It could be real._ Before he could reconsider, Martin clutched Douglas’s nape and pulled his head down. _Please, let it be real,_ he begged inwardly.

When their lips met, Douglas froze and uncertainty threatened to choke Martin at once – until there was movement at last. First Douglas’s mouth groped a soft path along his, pioneering the way for the tongue’s search for a contestant and then the fingers ceased to hesitate any longer and opened the top button of Martin’s shirt.

 _Thank god, it is real!_ Eagerly Martin waited for the next step to happen, for more of the things Douglas had pictured to come alive. He closed his eyes and relaxed against the wall, feeling the hands gliding over his chest and around his body and the mouth leaving his to travel down his throat instead.

“This...” Douglas whispered and aligned their bodies. “Have you… any idea how this haunted me in the last twenty-four hours?”

A question? Was he supposed to answer? Martin’s crotch shamelessly interfered with his reason as Douglas’s thigh was exerting just the right kind of pressure. The negligible rest of his higher brain functions knew only one goal: Where was the hand on his waistband and fly that had been part of the promise as well? Martin’s breath hitched when he felt it at last.

“Yes...” Every glorious bit of the scenarios had become branded on his mind. Only the kiss was new, an addition too welcome to stop it, Martin decided and buried his hands in Douglas’s hair to direct him upwards again.

“We won’t make it to the bed, I’m afraid,” Douglas murmured against Martin’s lips. “And don’t close your eyes.”

A hand on his briefs, around his shaft – the steep increase in stimulation made it almost impossible to act on the command, but when the kiss ended, and the body contact too, Martin thought he would manage. However, the moment he looked down and saw Douglas take the tip of his hardness into his mouth, he shut out everything to stop himself from climaxing.

“I told you to look.”

The brief interruption of the tongue’s supple art was enough to ensure any kind of cooperation. It was just imperative that it returned and when it continued its slick torture, Martin searched for support on the wall.

“I can’t…” His knees felt close to buckling, but Douglas’s answer was to suck even harder, mercilessly combining the firm grip of his hand and the slick warmth of his mouth.

“Please!” Martin croaked. It felt as if Douglas knew how to press every conceivable key that was linked to arousal and Martin was reduced to the tremors travelling through him, minor shocks at first that became more and more uncontrollable. His skin prickled with energy and his body willingly succumbed to the tongue that coiled around the glans, rubbing, probing... too much, it was too good...

“Douglas!” But the warning was ignored and instead Martin was hurled towards his orgasm. The needy jerks he could not hold back, the urge to sink into that warm cavern, all of it was accepted with hungry abandon and Martin let the force of his climax snatch him away and turn his world into pure pleasure until his mind threatened to go blank. 

“Are you all right?” he heard and swaying slightly, Martin tried to regain his senses. A strong hand grabbed his arm.

“Now step out of your shoes and trousers and then it’s just five feet to the bed.”

Fleetingly Martin realised that his shoelaces had been untied, making the way to safety a lot less dangerous. He slipped under the covers, his exhausted brain just processing patchy impressions of what was going on around him.

 _Get out of that shirt,_ Martin thought groggily and as if on cue, Douglas smiled to himself and unbuttoned it. He took off his trousers as well and then opened the wardrobe to retrieve what looked like pyjamas.

“Why... _that_?” Martin nodded at Douglas’s legs, which were just about to be clad.

“You take counsel with this here.” Douglas grabbed a pillow and threw it. Martin’s world went black. “If you don’t bolt during the night, we’re continuing with the item on our list that seems most desirable.”

“But it’s still early,” Martin complained weakly when he wrestled the pillow under his head. Douglas had closed the thick curtains, plunging the room into darkness.

“Last night was not overly refreshing and we never know when this stop-go client of ours decides to leave tomorrow morning.”

Martin grunted a sleepy disapproval, which Douglas did not pay any heed when he lay down and tugged at the blanket to cover himself. Blindly reaching for the bulge he had just caught a glimpse of before, Martin felt his hand being batted away the instant it found its goal.

“Sleep,” Douglas said and Martin closed his eyes, expecting to be too wound up to really let go. He listened to the regular sounds of Douglas’s breathing and allowed them to reassure him until he merely clung to the edges of consciousness.

“But why now? All of this here…” Martin murmured, but was coaxed away from wakefulness by fingers combing through his hair.

“Not even a princess was destined to have you. So there was just one suitable candidate left.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found any language blunders? Point them out to me and make my day :)


	8. Chapter 8

_God, what time is it?_ Despite the renewed knock at the door, Martin could not convince his eyes to open wider than slits. He felt for the button of his watch. 5 am. But why did he wear his watch in the first place?

A knock, and once more the part of his brain that was already awake focused on the current problem, sluggishly directing him to a chair because something white was hanging over it. A shirt? Carelessly, he threw it on and then opened the door.

“Martin, what are you doing in Douglas’s room?”

If there ever was an effective alarm, it was Carolyn’s voice. Wide awake from one second to the next, Martin looked down at himself.

 _… and in Douglas’s shirt,_ he finished inwardly.

“We…” He cleared his throat. “We... we swapped rooms.”

“What did you do that for? Your rooms were identical,” Carolyn said, but before Martin was forced to think of yet another lie, she continued. “Mr Davies wants us to be ready from eight on, so we’ll meet in the lobby at six. Don’t ask me what that lunatic has planned this time, but there’s a slim chance that we really lift off today, may god help us all.”

She turned around and had nearly left when Martin’s brain eventually kicked into gear.

“Wait! You don’t have to wake Douglas. I’ll phone him.”

Hurriedly he stepped to the side and scanned for his jacket. Right where Douglas had...

“Got it.”

Suppressing the thoughts of the previous night, he extracted the mobile and switched it on.

“Morning Douglas, it’s me, Martin,” he said after waiting some imaginary ringing. “We’ll leave at six, so you should get ready,” he said to the screen. Hopefully Carolyn would let herself be fooled by the light. Switching the phone off when she approached the door again, Martin attempted a reassuring smile.

“See, he’s awake.”

His trouble was answered by an irritated frown and without another word, Carolyn turned around and walked away.

Relieved, Martin closed the door, shutting out the hallway’s lighting. His adrenalin fuelled heart rate slowed down in the calming half-light, but although he got Carolyn out of his mind, her words remained. What _indeed_ was he still doing in Douglas’s room?

 _All right, relax,_ he told himself. _We’re adults, we can deal with what happened in a civilised manner. But maybe I should do something inconspicuous, something... I should shower!_

He took off the shirt and went into the bathroom. This time, he waited until the water was warm before he stepped under the jet and in contrast to his cold showers, he could drown out the world without getting frost bite on his scalp. _Heat! Glorious heat that…_

Martin’s arms automatically shot forwards when he was pushed away from the water.

“What the…?” His elbows hit the tiles.

“You don’t remember me?”

The chest hair? No. The mouth Martin recalled vividly though, and it nipped its well-known path down his throat.

“I thought you were still… asleep.” Martin’s voice trailed off when a bite revealed how curiously arousal could be wired. Nape to crotch was definitely new.  

“I was just waiting for something worthwhile to get up for,” Douglas murmured, “and the sight of you undressing my shirt and then disappearing in the bathroom was exactly my cup of tea.”

“God, if Carolyn had found out that you were here,” Martin groaned.

“She would have been overjoyed. Just think of the amount of money saved on accommodation.” Douglas stopped, his hand that had been wandering down Martin’s side frozen in place.

“What is it?” Martin asked.

“Oh nothing, just an idea that crossed my mind,” Douglas said. “But it’s not important enough to distract me from this here.”

Chest, belly – Martin tried to keep up with the new sensations, yet they were immediately eclipsed by the erection pressing into the small of his back.

“I took the liberty of imagining one or the other scenario while I was waiting for you to warm up,” Douglas whispered behind Martin’s ear. “You remember our programme, don’t you? The one that’s specially tailored to get rid of your puritan mind…”

“I haven’t got a–”

“And thoroughly debauch you as fast as possible,” Douglas continued. “Then tell me, what do you want me to do?”

Briefly Martin tried to formulate a sentence, but he gave up eventually. However, as notably as his blush had vaporised the water on his skin, it could count as an answer as well, Martin thought to himself.

“How delightful. Now you’re almost glowing,” Douglas growled. “Then let me show you what I envisioned and at the same time, we prepare the next step. It’s obviously beneficial to acquaint you with my plans and if only to silence that ever-present worrying voice in your head. Do you agree?”

Dizzily, Martin nodded.  

“Good then. So where was I? Oh yes, lathering you sprung to my mind.” Martin heard a click and for a second, Douglas increased the distance between them. “A hackneyed cliché, you might object.”

“S’okay,” Martin croaked as Douglas clung to him again, the slick hard length poking into his back a reminder of how much his own neglected erection begged for attention.

“Perfect. We don’t have time to savour that cliché though, so we might as well come to the point.” Martin gasped for breath when a soapy hand encircled his penis and pumped it in a rhythm that was just a fraction too quick to let him relax into the movement.

“Now listen, this is the future scheme,” Douglas whispered. “Those nimble fingers of yours, which look like they never did anything but press buttons and flip pages – I know they are used to hard work and I want them to touch me… Everywhere. To catalogue me with the same thoroughness they employ when checking a plane.”

Martin closed his eyes. It was not fair that Douglas’s words could captivate and carry him off like that. There was simply no way to maintain enough concentration to stem the tide of arousal.

“That soft and strong hand around my cock. Or my balls.” Douglas shifted to embed his erection completely between Martin’s buttocks, rubbing the sensitive skin. “Those fingers inside of me.”

His arms trembling under the double onslaught of stimulation and pressure, Martin mustered all of his strength to prevent himself from slumping down.

“I can’t wait,” Douglas whispered. “But you want to speed up things too, don’t you?”

 _Yes, just a bit more,_ Martin begged inwardly. _Just a bit!_

“What am I to do? Tell me!”

“Faster, please!” Martin blurted out. “Faster!”

And for once Douglas complied. With incredible ease he flicked his hand and made the tip of Martin’s cock an inferno of need in no time.

“Now let go,” Douglas’s silken voice cajoled him.

Martin clenched his teeth, but he had no choice as the fingers stroked him with such dexterity that it almost drove him to despair. Like the voice they coaxed him towards completion, pooling lust to unbearable magnitudes until Martin yielded under the firm grip and erupted in it. He smothered his cry and instead his tension was drained by that hand milking him while the blissful shocks slowly subsided.

The hand stayed though, and the soapy erection rubbing between his cheeks urgently pushed him forwards, establishing a cadence of overwrought stimulation in his cock. But Martin  let himself be shoved into the tight grasp of the fingers, riding out the accelerating movement until he finally heard a quiet moan. His frenzied nerves relayed every minute shudder and he felt Douglas’s climax from the fingertips that dug into his hips to the warmth spilling on his back.

“That definitely lived up to my imagination,” Douglas rasped and breathing heavily, he leaned on Martin.

The hand around Martin’s penis disappeared, but the fingers immediately began to study whatever new territory they travelled to.

“Mmh.” Lulled into a drowsy stupor by the shower’s soothing noise, Martin did not even object when he was pulled under water.

“How much time do you think we have?” he panted between wet kisses.

“About twenty minutes?”

“Oh god, twenty minutes to get ready!”

Martin mentally shook himself from his rapture and grabbed the body wash to shampoo his hair.

“I should feel insulted by such a rush,” Douglas said and leaned against the wall. He watched everything with quiet amusement, but came to life the moment Martin wanted to climb out of the tub. After stealing another kiss though, he continued to shower with utmost tranquillity – of course Douglas rejected the very concept of hurry, Martin thought desperately.

He towelled himself to the point that his hair did not drip and his clothes did not stick to his body, and then sneaked down the corridor and downstairs to his room. Shaving and changing into his uniform was all he managed to do before it was already time to meet the others and a quick look in the mirror assured him that he did not look too dishevelled. Yet the poker face Douglas maintained during the entire journey to the airport was unrivalled, as usual.

In turn, Martin wished he could quell the giddiness that wanted to burst forth each moment, which was even intensified by the unobtrusive way Douglas touched in little signs of affection. He held a door open or handed him his luggage and Martin thanked fate for the half-empty bus because otherwise he might have lost the authority over his reactions after all. Yet enough distance averted further complications, as did Arthur’s instant appearance on the flight deck once they had settled in.

“Hi chaps. Mr Davies will arrive in half an hour, Mum says.”

“Oh yes, the ominous Mr Davies.” Douglas seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. “Tell me, Arthur, you don’t happen to know anything else about him than the fact that he’s a ‘wealthy businessman’?”

“Well, not really, I mean Mum called him ‘Frank’ once and he basically looks like an old school pal of hers I met when I was small, but she told me it wasn’t him. Although he has the same surname. Strange, really.” With some effort, Arthur got his confusion under control. “So no, I don’t know anything else,” he declared.

“I was just thinking that it’s quite advantageous for him that he wanted to stay in Malpensa. With the minimal fee Carolyn has to pay here because they once almost had us land on top of another plane.” Douglas inclined his head. “Mmh, let’s try another approach: Arthur, were you present when your mother reserved the seats for the opera?”

“Oh, oh yes!” he said happily. “So I had just told her that I had met Skipper that morning when she suddenly called someone to reserve two seats. I still remember that because I thought we would be going to a restaurant. It was… it was when we arrived at the airport yesterday midday.”

Martin tried to come to the same conclusion as Douglas, whose knowing smile announced some deeper insight, but he had nothing to show for in the end.

“To confirm my suspicion, I should review our trip to Cape Town next week,” Douglas said. “Same accommodation as usual, I presume?”

Without waiting for an answer, he took out his mobile and started scrolling. Then he put the phone to his ear.

“A splendid good morning to you too, here’s MJN Air speaking. We made a booking for next week and I’d like to change it.”

He listened to the person at the end of the line.

“Oh, is that so?” he said after some time. “I’m so sorry, it seems that our secretary has not passed on the information. Could you tell me again what the change was about?”

“I see.” He nodded. “Well, everything’s in order then, thank you very much for your help.”

He hung up and Martin was sure that his own face showed the same amount of curiosity as Arthur’s. Douglas in turn, appeared to be completely unperturbed.

“That’s a story to tell some other time,” he declared. “And it’s a fascinating example of impatience, economising and, last but not least, playing fate – a combination that almost showed a true master. Or mistress in this case.”

“Oh, oh, I know that one!” Arthur exclaimed excitedly. “That’s a word that came up in the opera a lot. Because there _were_ translations after all. And the whole thing’s name was similar to the word you told me two days ago, Skipper. I forgot it, but  it wasn’t Belgium.”

Martin searched his memory. “La bohème?”

“Yes, that’s it,” Arthur rejoiced. “But it was about a boy and a _girl._ Anyway, in the middle of everything they had a celebration and dinner on stage, and wow, did I wish that the Scala had been a restaurant because that made me _so_ hungry.”

“Well, I hope you had an entertaining evening,” Martin said.

“Oh yes, the salty snacks were just like the salty snacks at home, brilliant!”

“The joys of travelling,” Douglas remarked dryly.

“What? Ah, well, I’m sure you had a good time too, I mean, despite Skipper’s, um, problem.” Arthur looked around awkwardly. “All right.” He coughed. “I’d better go.”

Martin rolled his eyes when the door was finally shut again.

“He can’t remember his birthday, but something like _that_ sticks to his mind.”

“Well, but ignoring one’s problems does not make them go away all of a sudden,” Douglas retorted and added one of his haughty grins for good measure.

“I don’t have any problems.” Martin crossed his arms. “Especially none of  those you want to impute me with.”

“Is that so?” Disbelief dripped from each word.

“I’m just a bit… rusty. Like your Italian,” Martin said. “I’m not that inexperienced, you see. I’ve already done… it.”

“So by all means, explain the facts of _your_ life to me.” Douglas reclined in his seat, but Martin refused to let himself be intimidated by the pose.

“All kinds of… practices,” he said to avoid losing the thread. “If you hadn’t, erm, finished without my assistance, I could have returned the favour of yesterday evening.”

“Ah, you would have invited me for a soft drink.”

Martin’s dark look could not wipe the amused smirk from Douglas’s face, so he resigned himself to the fact that he had to follow through on his demonstration under the worst circumstances imaginable.

“No, I… I would have gone down on you.” This had been at least somewhat daring, Martin thought and breathed in. While letting the air escape again, he shifted and assumed a position just as relaxed as Douglas’s.

“You see, I would have had no qualms whatsoever to take your…” Martin stopped and searched for the right word, but in the end chose to stick with biology lessons as a start. “… penis in my mouth.” He cleared his throat. Sex ed did not sound very appealing, he should really change the vocabulary. “But the point is, with your… your cock between my arse cheeks, I couldn’t think straight.”

A raised eyebrow was a promising reaction, Martin decided. The slightly vacant look that stole on Douglas’s face was a lot harder to classify, though.

“You want to know what went on in my mind?” Martin asked, fixing Douglas with his gaze. “All right, I hoped that you would make an incautious movement, something...  uncontrolled and with just a tiny flexing of the hips, you’d have pushed in, so that it would have been too late and too deep to pretend it didn’t happen. And I would have begged you to continue, no matter how tight or risky it might have been. But you wouldn’t have resisted anyway, no, how could you, you’d have sunk in further, slowly advancing, inch after inch, and everything would have been too much and too fast, but I wouldn’t have cared.  Because I would still feel you now, still sense the imprint of that impressive cock and you would remember that you’d given anything to come the very instant you saw it buried in me.”

Silence. Martin knew that his face had taken on the brightest pink, but Douglas’s incredulous look was worth it.

“Plausible, yes.” He had never heard that voice so breathy. It took a while and involved some straightening of his jacket for Douglas to pull himself together again.

“Therapy’s been a complete success,” he stated, giving Martin a wink. “Not bad for an education at a company on its last legs like MJN. So you might be temporarily stuck with us, but you have to admit that we teach you all you need to know about flying.” 

Ignoring the flirtatious leer, Martin tried to find out if he had understood the subtext correctly because that would mean that his infallible first officer did not know everything after all. Which was impossible, wasn’t it?

“Have you never wondered why the outcome of your first course of treatment was so spectacular?” Martin asked after the suggestive look had turned questioning.

A pensive line formed between Douglas’s brows. “I all but surgically removed that sentence from you, didn’t I?”

 _Good god,_ Martin thought. Douglas really did not have the slightest clue.

“Oh, no need to worry, it was just you I couldn’t tell,” Martin remarked and the frown deepened. “Now, I’m sure you’d have known.”

“Known what?” Exasperation was such a curious sight on Douglas’s face.

 _I suppose that’s how Douglas feels when I’m floundering,_ Martin thought to himself. _A truly guilty pleasure I could get used to._

“You see,” he started and allowed the smile that had been lying in wait for some time to show at last. “The moment I would have said it, we both would have known that it was true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voilà, my first fic ever where someone says the three magic words :) Strange, it wasn't so hard to write them after all...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for those who commented so nicely, assuring me that although English is not my (and my beta's) mother tongue, the story is still readable.  
> Yet the invitation still stands: native speakers' wise counsel's very welcome!


End file.
